From Insta-Muse
Prompted by: http://www.webcom.com/wordings/artofwrite/poetrygenerator.html
In the closet of corruption the voices spit,
The winds of fury blow, effortless futile.
Loneliness howls at the door, a wolf in wolf’s clothes–
A pit of despair, of desperation, of despite
Hangs beneath your bowels.
Within you, there is nothing pure
Nothing good, nothing right, nothing fair
Nothing, in short, nothing.
No thing hangs inside your chest, fluttering
Its red-pink warmth gliding over you, a blush
–An innocent blush!–
Too white against the skin, the knife so silver.
A razor blade release.
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